MichelePiece5

Literacy Paper “In Search of Nirvana”

What do you know? Here I am, almost 50 and I still haven’t arrived at my literacy nirvana, not yet anyway. Not even after completing three college degrees. Not even after teaching English to high school students. Not even after a lifetime of hungrily reading anything I could get my hands on. I don’t think I, or anyone else who loves literature, will ever be able to reach their literary nirvana. It simply isn’t possible. There are too many things to learn and so many books to read, and unfortunately, a limited life span in which to do it all.

Through books I learned to ask questions, to be skeptical, to be aware, to be cautious. I learned about love and sex. I discovered that no matter what the setting, genre, or age of the characters, sex and love always follow the same basic formula. I learned to see the world through others' eyes, other places (real or imagined), and other viewpoints (even those I vehemently opposed). Through literature, I learned to laugh, to sharpen my own wit, and to tell amusing anecdotes. Being literate brought me closer to God, to others, but most importantly, to myself.

Sometimes I cursed the books. Like a frenzied dieter or an addict, I made a solemn promise to put them away – for now, for a time, forever. And then my fingers would itch, my heart would race, and my head would ache for more words.

Like Eve and Persephone, I had unleashed, savored, and sampled the food of knowledge - of words. Once tasted, the flavor cannot be forgotten. And this often was a good thing, or a great thing, or sometimes simply a getaway. But on occasions, literacy became a source of sadness, disappointment, and misery. It seemed the more I read, the more I learned, the more questions I asked – well, quite frankly, the more disillusioned and unsettled I became. I’d hate myself for questioning the existence of God, the way of the world, and the essence of the human condition.

Ignorance truly is bliss. At times I wish I was a different person, one who wasn’t so curious and greedy for words and knowledge. Life would be easier if I had no desire to read. I could sleep blissfully each night without having to artificially shut down my brain. Maybe I would find nirvana that way. But, dammit, I am the girl who trembles when she goes into a bookstore, a library, or to the book department of a thrift store. I lovingly stroke the spines and covers. I pick them up, take in their fragrance, and then fan through the pages and create a soft, comforting mixture of air, sight, and smell. It is then I understand why I am compelled to seek.

Rachel- I completely understand and relate to your passion for reading! I feel disappointed on those rare days when I did not have time to at least read one chapter before going to bed. I have just a few suggestions for you: -Like a mad dieter or an addict, I would make a solemn promise to put them away – for now, for a time, forever. -I’d hate myself for questioning the existence of God, the way of the world, and the state of human nature. -I pick them up, take in their fragance, then fan through the pages to create a soft, comforting mixture of air, sight, and smell. -It is then I understand my compulsion to seek.

I would take the "you" out of stanza 4 and replace it with "I" - The reality is that some of your readers have never experienced the awakening you describe, so you should limit it to yourself. Hopefully, your essay will inspire them to aspire to such an understanding. -Monica